Free The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) by Anna Bloom Page B

“Simon” to have a near heart attack of excitement.
    “Soooo,” says Simon, hand on hip, gesticulating wildly with the other whilst brandishing a pair of scissors. “You have no idea what you want? At all?”
    “Um, nope, I just want a change, please.”
    “Well, my girl, you have come to the right place!” he declares as he throws his head back with an evil laugh.
    He then proceeded to hack off my long brown waves and replace them with a style that a mental patient in a long-term residence psych ward might have given herself, afterwards proclaiming that the devil told her to do it with the nail scissors.
    10th October
    8.40 a.m.
    I have been sitting here waiting for everyone to leave for class. I thought they might knock, but they didn’t. I am trying not to let this offend me. After all, I am the one who has been holed up in my cage for days.
    Eventually they have gone, making a lot of noise and giggling as they do so .
    Bastards.
    Sod it, I am going outside, I am so hungry and have run out of crumbs to eat from under the bed. I was halfway through a pizza crust when I realised that I have never eaten pizza in my room.
    Yuck.
    8.50 a.m.
    I unlock my door and step out into freedom.
    “What the fuck?”
    It’s Meredith.
    Ben and Meredith are sitting on the floor opposite my door and she is staring at me in shock. They must have pretended to leave and then crept back in.
    How bloody old are they?
    I let out a scream of surprise and then automatically cover my head with my hands. It’s too late; they have seen it. Meredith appears to be having palpitations.
    “Did you use fucking nail scissors?” she shouts.
    I don’t know why she is so upset. She is the one who still has amazing, long, flame red hair.
    “No. What are you both doing?”
    “What are you doing?” Ben asks, his voice sounding a little cross. He has stood up and is trying to get my hands off my head.
    “I am hungry, I need food and to buy a bloody hat,” I say, fighting off his hands.
    “So you were not hiding in your room because of the library the other day?” he asks, relief softening his tone.
    “No.”
    Well, I was, initially, but not now. So I kept that bit of information to myself.
    His arms slide down to grab me in a hug. “Jesus, Lilah! Don’t do that again.”
    I don’t know what he is so agitated about, but I lean into the hug and squeeze my arms around his waist.
    Then I remember the hair.
    “Oh my hair!” I wail, and then start to whimper.
    Bacon Butties
    Ben makes the best bacon rolls ever, crispy bacon squidged between soft floury bread, bacon buttie heaven! That’s one of the reasons I love him.
    What? I did not just think that, did I? Surely not! That would be crazy.
    Maybe I am just really hungry and delirious from lack of food and water.
    More like lack of wine and fags.
    I reckon I have dropped at least half a stone in the last two days. I have eaten three rounds of sandwiches, heated to crispy perfection by an even hotter chef, I should add.
    Hair Wax
    Meredith took her personal taxi, otherwise known as a red double-decker and sped back into Putney to buy emergency hair wax. Ben didn’t leave me alone whilst she was gone. I think he was scared I would lock the door to my room again.
    He spent the time filling me in on my day of missed lectures and trying very hard not to stare at my hair.
    Meredith returned with the hair wax and three bottles of wine. Obviously, the haircut forced her hand on the bottle count and she decided we needed one each. Half an hour later, she has tamed the crazy fuzz cut into something that actually looks rather sexy, and I am standing admiring myself in the mirror.
    “It makes your neck look very kissable,” says Ben, coming up behind me and planting one on the exposed flesh to demonstrate his point.
    Meredith has already finished her bottle of wine.
    “Shmakes yours eyes big,” she slurs.
    “Thanks, guys,” I say and completely mean it.
    Ben is giving me a look that I could read a